


Under the ladder

by Liffis



Series: Like ice in the sunshine [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Summer Vacation, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14695860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liffis/pseuds/Liffis
Summary: It's summer, and they're having the time of their life.





	Under the ladder

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this idea had popped up a few days ago, but inbetween, I forgot about it - and now decided to try to hammer it out anyways. Hope you like the fluffy fluff festival!
> 
> And yes, the titel *is* playing at ESC. Because ESC just had happened and leaving that without any mention at all would be a waste.
> 
>  
> 
> As always: none of this is real, this is just a fantasy, no money is being made.

The rich, red juice of the strawberries is running down their arms while they eat. It’s impossible to not drip all over themselves with it, the strawberries are simply too juicy. And they taste as sweet and fragrant as they smell, the car already saturated with the smell.

Looking for a nice place to sit while they eat has been worth the wait.

It feels luxurious to simply sit in the grass, the warmth and bulk of the car behind them providing just enough protection against the first chilling gusts of night. The sun is setting in front of them, in a million brilliant golden hues, but the air is still heavy and lazy with a summer day’s worth. 

All there is to do is sit, their ankles touching, while they try not to get juices all over them. A futile encounter: Roman’s shirt is already stained, and Yann’s is not too far off, either. 

But it’s not like it matters – they have strawberries by the poundful, their fingers already stained red, and when they kiss, it tastes sweet. And they can kiss, actually: the streets are empty and winding through little villages, and sometimes they don’t see anyone for hours. 

Everything is lazy in such a way only summer holidays are: the air is flirring, warm and heavy, and all they want to do is lie in the sun, tan, enjoy their days off. Holidays. They have time for themselves, weeks, this time. Summer.

Finally, time off, out of the public’s eye, so they’d packed their things, rented a little car. Something useful, something average. 

And they drive, through French landscapes that look like they were painted in broad, flashy strokes of vibrant colours: golden, green, purple. The food is excellent, just as vibrant, and probably the best they’ve ever had, even if half of the time they don’t even know what exactly it is what they eat. It smells like grass and herbs and little wildflowers, no matter where they go.

It’s the best time of their lives. 

They don’t have to worry about anything, so it’s easy to hold hands while they drive, or kiss, just like that. Can look at eachother while eating strawberries, and in their eyes, they keep the want that’s already there – not even a sexual one, just a naked want for life, something they’re filling, now. With the freshly picked strawberries and eachother, like that.

Sitting close to eachother and just enjoy it: the proximity, the touches. Licking the juices off their fingers and arms, wherever it is running and dripping to, and not care about decorum. 

And when they’re finished, the bag that had contained the strawberries now empty and juice-stained, they wipe off the most of the juices, without success: their skin stays sticky. They leave it at that and drive back to where they’re staying, a small little house, small and nestled between a massive tree laden with leaves so heavily the branches droop on the floor, and a stable. 

They wash themselves in too-cold water Roman drags in from the tiny river winding itself close to the house, and while they stand close to eachother, scrubbing half-heartedly at their hands, they can feel the other’s warmth seeping in. Their stay has already given them both a tan: in Roman, the tan is more noticeable, while Yann has gotten a darker tan and slightly lighter hair. 

Later, when the night has fallen completely and some insects are humming in the darkness, they make love, close to eachother in heart, mind, and body: they’re touching from head to toe, kissing until their lips are swollen and they steal little noises from the other. It’s slow, unhurried – they have all the time in the world, so they take all the time they want and need. Re-learn eachother, completely anew mapping out what they’re so familiar with.

After, they doze off, still in each other’s arms.


End file.
